Just Like You
by Genim Stilinski
Summary: A series of ficlets based on the young life of Sam Winchester. Daddy Bashing and Wincest of the Sam and Dean variety. Based on the song "Just Like You" by Three Days Grace.  Better Summary Inside
1. Chapter 1

Just Like You

A/N: Each chapter is its own short scene from the life of Sam Winchester, with a few lines from the song "Just Like You" by Three Days Grace to set the theme. The timeline jumps around a bit, so I will write when it happens at the beginning of each chapter.

Special thanks to my Beta, Little Miss Rosie!

Enjoy, and please do review, as reviews are love. Ideas for future chapters are welcome.

* * *

"_I could be mean  
I could be angry  
You know I could be just like you"_

1993- Age 10

Sam slipped out of the backseat of the Impala, slamming the door behind him, and stomping into the crappy motel room. His father was quick to follow, where as Dean, sensing the oncoming argument, lingered behind. He watched as John marched into the room, without even bothering to shut the door.

"What the hell was that, Sam?" John's voice boomed so loud that Dean could hear him very clearly outside.

"That was me almost getting killed by a poltergeist, Dad, which wouldn't have happened if you hadn't left Dean and me there by ourselves!" Sam was now on the edge of the bed, shooting daggers with his eyes at the oldest Winchester.

"And, what was I to do, huh? There was another one at Molly Creve's house that seemed far angrier."

"You could have taken us with you! The one at the warehouse wasn't bothering anyone till we showed up. Then, it chose to trap Dean in another room and mess with me!" It was then that Dean walked in, keeping his silence as his family fumed.

"Grow up, Sam! I did what I had to do." He pushed passed Dean, and out the door. A few moments later, the Impala revved to life, and he was gone.

Sam tucked his legs up on to the bed, rolled over, and allowed the tears to flow. He wouldn't dare cry in front of his father, but Dean was always there for him. It was okay to cry when it was just the two of them. Thus, Dean sat down behind his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy," he near whispered, "are you alright?"

Through the sobs, he managed, "I will be." He closed his eyes, and rocked slightly.

"Sam, you're bleeding." Dean noticed a large diagonal slash along the younger boy's back.

"It's alright. At least I feel something."

"Sam," Dean spoke in his warning tone, "Don't do this…let me patch it up." Without a word, he rolled off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Dean took this as a signal to follow. He'd patched up his brother enough times to know what Sam's body language said when he was hurt.

Sam cursed at his father under his breath as he removed his shirt, waiting for Dean to come in with the sewing needle and floss.


	2. Chapter 2

"_I could be fake  
I could be stupid  
You know I could be just like you"_

2000- Age 17

Dean was woken by a sudden shake of his shoulder, and why the hell didn't it surprise him that it was Sam? But he knew what his brother wanted. Seventeen years old, and Sammy still wanted to cuddle up some nights. So, he slid over, and Sam awkwardly crawled in next to him.

"Thanks, Dean." Sam snaked his lengthy arms around his brother's firm torso, taking in all the warmth he could. It helped him get to sleep, knowing that Dean was right there. He warded off the bad dreams, and made him feel a certain calm that no other person ever could. That was why he loved his brother…more than he should.

Dean pulled the covers back over himself and his guest, allowing himself to return to the bliss that was sleep. Sam, however, stayed awake. It wasn't because of the dreams, or the fact that he was too awake, but because he loved these moments. At night, when they were all alone, no Dad telling them what to do, they could get away with the intimate touches, caresses, and unfettered love. They existed in their own world, one without the rules of society to stand in their way. That is, until a knock on the door frightened them into complete awareness.

Dean slipped out of his brother's embrace and walked to the motel door. Looking through the peep hole, he saw that it was their father.

'_Shit'_, he thought to himself. But before Sam could protest, he was already undoing the deadbolt and chain. The door swung open to reveal a disgruntled John Winchester. He had suspected something was off in his sons for months, but he hadn't said anything. Now, he saw that only one of the two beds was slept in, whereas the other was pristine.

"I came to see if you two wanted to go out for a while, but I didn't expect to see this…" He looked upset. It was one thing for him to be angry. Sam could deal with that. But it scared the living daylights out of him when his father was upset or disappointed in himself or Dean.

"What do you mean?" Dean's uneasy voice was all the confirmation that John needed to prove that something was going on, something that shouldn't be.

"I think you know what I mean, Dean." He sat at one of the two chairs at the small table in the front corner. "But I want to hear you say it." The words crushed Sam as he watched his brother struggle.

"Well, Sam gets nightmares when he sleeps by himself. I decided that it was better just to let him sleep with me." He stared at the floor. Sam couldn't bear that his brother was taking full responsibility, when it wasn't even his fault.

"No, Dean. Don't say that." He rushed out of bed to stand beside Dean. "Dad, it was all me. I asked him. I persuaded him. Please, don't be upset with Dean."

"Sammy, stay out of this!" The sudden harshness in voice frightened both young men, causing Dean to flinch and Sam to respond.

"NO! Dad, I saw you. I saw when you brought that man back with you from the bar and I heard the noises coming from your room." He took a breath, so as to allow his voice to match his fathers. "I know that you are sleeping with other men. So if you can do that, why can't I share a bed with my brother? He's helping me!" Dean let out a solitary tear for his brother's words. Of course, he knew that there was truth in abundance there, but it was hard to stomach.

"Why should I believe that the two of you are_ just_ sharing a bed? After all, you hid it from me. And I have seen the glances and touches that the two of you give each other when you think I'm not looking. So tell me, Sam, how can I be sure?" His voice was entirely level, which was almost as frightening as the yelling. How could he think that of his sons? For one, it was half true. Sam loved Dean, and even though he didn't know it, Dean loved him back.

"Get out." Dean spoke bitterly. His father was a filthy hypocrite, suggesting that it was wrong for the two of them to share a bed.

"Dean, I need to know." He looked at his elder son with near-pleading eyes.

"We can talk in the morning." Sam didn't know who looked angrier, Dean, or Dad.

John Winchester begrudgingly stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned around to look at both boys.

"In the morning," He pointed at both of them, "the two of you best be ready to explain." He shut the door in an uncharacteristically soft manner, and Dean locked the door behind him.

"Dean," Sam whispered, a plead and a question wrapped into one.

"Let's go back to bed." He gently tugged at his brother's arm, but Sam wouldn't budge. Instead, he felt lips upon his.

"Thank you." Sam breathed as he pulled away. Dean followed Sam back to bed, and they cuddled all night long.


	3. Chapter 3

"_You thought you were there to guide me  
You were only in my way  
You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you"_

2000- Age 17

The next morning came, and neither boy could think of much to tell their father, other than the truth. Sam lay wrapped in his brother's warmth, waiting for the inevitable time in which he would wake, and they'd have to face Dad. But for now, Dean was still in golden slumbers, and Sam wanted to keep it that way. A smile played across the sleeping man's face, as his eyes moved beneath his lids. Evidently, he was dreaming well, which didn't happen often. Sam gave a sigh, and nuzzled his head back onto his brother's chest.

*BANG*BANG*BANG*

The sudden pounding on the door woke Dean, who promptly shot up and out of bed. Sam sat in dread as he watched his brother nearly stomp to the door. He performed the standard 'check the peephole and turn the locks' routine, admitting their semi-agitated father.

"Hello, boys." He promptly sat back into the chair he pulled out last night, and lounged back. It was an unusual position to see someone sit in with that look on their face. It wasn't exactly something that Sam had ever hoped or expected to see on his father.

"Hi, Dad." Dean spoke in a normal voice, despite the circumstances. He took the other chair at the table, as Sam finally had enough sense to get out of bed. He sat on the floor next to Dean, as there were no more chairs.

"It's time to talk…" Beneath his angry looking exterior, it was obvious through his voice that he was more nervous than anything. _Perhaps he's afraid of what he might learn, _Sam thought grimly to himself.

"What's there to talk about, Dad? I mean, you've already caught us." Dean sounded slightly bitter, and with his eyes, he shot daggers.

"I need to know how far it's gone, and," He paused, "I can't believe I have to say this, but we have to talk about our feelings…" The room went silent. Sam felt his eyes go wide at the last bit of the sentence, and he was certain that, though Dean was as stone-faced as ever, he was feeling the same way.

"Well," Sam started, "I, for one, feel awkward right now."

"You're not the only one." Okay, so maybe John was as uncomfortable as his boys in all of this, but it still didn't excuse how rude he was the night before. Dean scowled at him.

Ordinarily, such an attitude from Dean would earn a backhand to the cheek, but none of them were in the fighting mood, so it was let go without mention. Sam scooted over to the chair where his brother sat, and placed his head on the arm, right where Dean's hand was resting. The simple gesture didn't go unnoticed by their father.

"Sam, please tell me?" He appealed to the emotional side of his youngest son, which ruled most of his actions. Sam seemed to ponder his words for a moment, and then looked to Dean, who, with sorrow in his eyes, gave a small nod.

"Um," he struggled to find his voice, "I have nightmares. I've had them since I was about ten. Dean would end up waking me up most nights. After about a week or so, I asked Dean if I could sleep in his bed, with him. He let me, and I didn't have any bad dreams that night. After that, I tried going back to my own bed, but the nightmares would return. Eventually, I stopped trying." He paused, looking to his brother for the support he needed to go on. Dean gave him a slight smile, all he could muster, and Sam looked to the floor, and continued. "I slept in Dean's bed every night until I was sixteen. I became too proud to share a bed with him. I had nightmares, just like I knew I would, but I was better at waking myself before Dean had to. Just…some times, the nightmares would be too frightening, and I would find myself wandering over to Dean's bed in the middle of the night. Last night was one of those nights." John stared at Sam, and was saddened by the tears he found trailing down his son's cheeks. Dean, being as caring as he was, figured he had nothing to loose by gently brushing the strands of hair out of Sam's face.

"Sam," John questioned, "what were the nightmares about?" The young man looked up, brushing the tears from his face.

"There are a few different ones. Sometimes it's Mom, sometimes it's a random thing we hunted, and sometimes it's just a pair of ugly, yellow eyes, staring at me in the dark." The tears began to flow again, and Dean ushered Sam up into his lap. Despite his size, he could always expect to find himself there when he cried. Dean cared too much for him to just let him sit there. So, like always, Sam felt his brother's arms around him, and heard him whispering consolations and hushes in his ear.

John simply sat and watched, in awe of the love he saw between his boys. Unfortunately, he also saw the other love. He couldn't just let everything go because Sam was too soft to sleep on his own, or wait to cry in private. He knew that there was more to the story than Sam was telling him, and he didn't like it. All in all, he learned what he needed to know, but now it was time for correction.

"Sam, I know that we lead a frightening lifestyle at times, but you can't let the dreams get to you. They aren't real. You also can't sleep with Dean anymore. It's not healthy for brothers to do at this age." His voice was stern, and cut at Sam like a thousand knives. Before either son could respond, he walked out of the room, and let the two boys be.

Dean was the first to pull away from the embrace, and Sam followed, whilst remaining in the other man's lap.

"What am I going to do, De?" He heaved a dry sob, and looked at Dean with eyes that said too much.

"Sammy," Dean placed a kiss to his brother's lips, and then a few more before pulling back. "I won't let him separate us. You are mine, and I am yours." He searched those bluish green eyes that he knew so well, and saw the gratefulness, and the light.

"I won't let him tell me what to do anymore. I can't."


	4. Chapter 4

"_I could be weak  
I could be senseless  
You know I could be just like you"_

**2000- Age 17**

After a few minutes, Sam stood up, took Dean by the hand, and led him back to bed. After all, it was still early, and they had another two hours before they would be leaving to meet up with their Dad. He had stated early on yesterday, before all of the drama ensued, that the plan was for him to ask a few of the locals about recent events, and then the three of them to meet up for lunch. However, it seemed that lunch was going to be awkward.

Dean gladly slid back under the covers, and Sam lay beside him, reaching out to intertwine their fingers. The bed was big enough for the two of them, but still too small to have extra space; their arms, therefore, were pressed firmly together. Sam quickly drifted into unconsciousness, dreaming of Dean, and their father, on a hunt from the past gone awry.

**1996- Age 13**

It didn't take long to figure out what was murdering the people of Centerville, but the damn thing that was doing it was good. The demon was jumping from body to body faster than they could figure out who he was in. And, he knew that the Winchester's were in town, and after him. He did his best to keep a step ahead, while still managing to taunt them.

When they finally caught up, he was riding the meatsuit of one Charlotte Grier. They followed her to an abandoned storage facility, and locked all of the exits, trapping them inside.

"She could be anywhere in here, boys," John's gruff voice reminded them, "so keep your eyes sharp." He walked forward cautiously, gun at the ready, and the boys did the same. Dean was on his father's right, looking in all of the open units, and Sam was to his father's left, peering down every corridor they passed. He caught a glimpse of the demon down the third corridor, and charged after it. Dean followed Sam, and John remained, creating a devil's trap on the floor in black spray paint. On top of the grime that had already collected on the cool cement, it blended rather well. He fell back into the nearest unit, and watched as Sam chased it into the trap.

"What the hell?" She shouts, looking down to find the grievous answer. Sam slid to a stop behind her, panting for breath. Dean, however, failed to stop in time, and tripped forward, into the trap, and the arms of the demon. John stepped out of the unit with large bits of rock salt in his hands.

"Let him go, or I'll shove these down your throat, and then send your ass back to hell."

"You're gonna try to send me back anyways, so I might as well make it fun." With that, the black smoke poured out of Charlotte's gaping, screaming mouth, and down Dean's throat. Sam and John watched in horror as the woman fell to the floor, and Dean opened his eyes, revealing big, black orbs instead of green ones.

"Fight it, Dean!" Sam shouted, though he knew it was useless.

"Sorry, Kid," Dean's voice came out, but it wasn't him. "Dean can't come to the phone right now."

John stood in horror as his eldest son was used as a puppet before his eyes.

"Dad! Do something!" Sam urged. John did nothing, and the demon laughed.

"Johnny Winchester…tut, tut, tut. I would have thought you'd be strong enough to take back your own son."

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus" Sam started to chant an exorcism off of the top of his head, like he'd been practicing for months.  
"omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio  
infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,  
omnis congregatio et secta diabolica." The demon clutched at Dean's throat, as if gasping for air.

"Ergo draco maledicte  
et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te.  
cessa decipere humanas creaturas,  
eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare." John continued to stare as his second son saved his first. Dean began to scream, and thick black smoke ripped it's way out, and straight back to hell. When the darkness subsided, Sam rushed to help Dean up (before he realised that he fell on top of a dead woman), as John walked angrily back to the car.

"Why didn't you help, Dad?" Sam yelled across the barren parking lot. John turned around at the car, and stopped.

"Because, Sam, that scared the shit out of me! And quite frankly, Dean is old enough, and trained enough, not to have gotten caught like that!"

"So, you're just gonna blame it on him, huh? That's just low." Dean walked out of the facility, and trudged over as fast as his weakened body would cary him.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trip like that. Can we please stop fighting, and just go?" He looked in anger for a moment, and then nodded. The older two Winchesters got in the car, while Sam stood there, seething in anger over his father.

**2000- Age 17**

Sam woke up, still clutching Dean's hand, and breathed in. Apart from the dream about yellow eyes he had the night before, it was the worst dream he had in months. What made it so bad? It really happened.


	5. Chapter 5

"_On my own, cause I can't take liven with you  
I'm alone, so I won't turn out like you  
Want me to"_

**2000- Age 17**

_Before now, I wasn't sure if I was going. I love Dean a lot to give it up for something like that. But I can't deal with Dad anymore. I just can't. I hate how much I know it will hurt Dean. I know I'll hurt just as much, but if I stay, Dad'll make things a living hell for the both of us. I know I can't regain any of the trust I lost yesterday, but Dean might. So, by leaving, I'll be doing what's best for him, right?_

Sam sighed, clinging to Dean's hand, and the thought that he was going to have to tell him eventually. He was asleep, barely, and they would have to wake up soon anyways. Thus, Sam brought his brother's hand to his mouth, and kissed it, just how Dean loves to be woken up. He stirred, gently, knowing it was Sam, and knowing the intent.

"Morning…" He yawned, stretching his free arm. Sam just held his hand, sadly thinking of what to say, or rather, how to say it. Dean, sensing his distress, rolled over to his side to face him.

"What is it? He searched his lover's eyes, seeing no less pain there than he had earlier.

"I have something I have to tell you."

"What?" Sam hesitated, breathing heavily, holding back tears.

"You can tell me, Sammy. Whatever it is, I won't be angry, and I won't judge you. You don't have to be afraid."

"I…I can't stay here anymore."

"What do you mean?" A single tear ran down his brother's cheek, which he brushed away.

"If I keep going on with you and Dad, he'll be terrible to both of us. I need to get away from him. This life is hard, De, and he makes it impossible." Dean was visibly hurt, but responded.

"Okay, Sammy." He was the one about to cry now, "I understand. Where will you go?"

"I got an acceptance letter to Stanford about a week ago, and can go on a full scholarship. I'll get a job to pay for food and stuff, plus, I've saved up a little to get me there."

"So you've thought about this for a while, then?"

"I toyed with the idea, but I really wanted to stay with you. Now I have no choice." Dean brought his free hand to rest on Sam's waist, and he kissed the younger boy.

"We can tell Dad together if you like, but it has to be done…as in, tonight."

"I know."

* * *

The three Winchester men slid from the impala in various visions of disarray. John had a limp, Dean was covered in mud, and Sam, well, Sam just looked upset. It wasn't just the hunt. It was knowing what he had to do. He knew that he had to talk to his father tonight, but he couldn't just get it out of the way. Dean offered to help, but very badly needed to shower first.

"I'm going out for a drink after I change. I want the two of you to rest." John said, fumbling with the keys at the lock on his door.

"Uh, Dad?" Dean spoke up. "After you get back, can you come to our room? We need to talk some more." Sam gulped, and hoped that his father didn't notice.

"Sure. Now go take a shower. You reek to high heaven, boy." Dean gave a slight chuckle at his father's poor attempt at humor, and found his room key.

"Yes, sir." Both doors swung open, and each of them went about their business.

* * *

Dean stepped out of the bathroom to find Sam sitting at the table, packed bags in front of him.

"You can't seriously think it's a good idea to leave tonight." He stared in disbelief.

"I checked the bus schedule. If I don't go tonight, I'll have to wait a few days."

"Would that be so bad?" Sam sighed, getting up to stand in front of his brother. He placed his hands upon naked hips, just above the edge of the towel, and looked into those beautifully green eyes he's known better than his own.

"I need this, Dean. In a few days, we might not be here. I don't know if where we'll end up next will have a bus running to Stanford." Dean wrapped his arms around to the small of his lover's back.

"I know. I just…wish we had more time. I'll drive you to the bus station, if that's okay."

"Of course."

"We can leave as soon as we tell Dad." His voice was uneven, and he couldn't help but look away. Sam pulled his brother to him in a tight embrace, feeling the warmth he would soon be missing, and sharing what little comfort he could. Dean clung to him, as if it would be the last time.

* * *

Dean dressed in silence, allowing his thoughts to meander. Sure, it was going to be hard, but he could get through it, right? The worst part would be telling Dad. But what if he wouldn't let Sam go? What then?

"Hey, Sammy?" He turned around to look at his brother, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Do you just want to go before he gets back?" Sam stared at him, as if uncertain of his next words.

"I thought that you said I should tell him."

"I did, but, I know that he can be authoritative, and I wanna make sure that you get to go."

"You think I'd let him boss me into staying?" He closed the book he had been reading, and placed it back in his bag.

"Not intentionally, but it still would be a hell of a lot less stressful than a confrontation." Both men seemed to contemplate the situation.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So, we leave in five." Dean stood, pulling a button up shirt over his flannel, and turned back around to finish getting ready.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me thus far, and for all of the lovely reviews. I'd also like to thank my beta, Little Miss Rosie. One more chapter to go, guys…


	6. Chapter 6

**2000- Age 17**

The drive to the bus station was short, but felt agonizingly long. Both felt the overwhelming sensation of their impending loss, though it was for the best. Sam was going to college, a feat which Dean would never be allowed to attempt, and he was going to have the normal life he always wanted. And yet, Dean couldn't let himself be happy. Sam was going so very far away, and since they rarely went as far as Palo Alto, it was likely that he wouldn't see his brother for a long time.

Sam sat in the passenger's side of the impala, trying not to think of the same things. He already knew the cost of his normal life, and was fearful of backing out. They both needed this. Hell, their dad probably needed it too. Sam would be out of the way, and he wouldn't have to worry anymore.

When the car came to a halt, and Dean put it into park, they were in a distant parking spot in the lot for the bus station. It was already dark out, and the streetlight they were under was out. Essentially, no one could see them. But that was kind of the point.

"I should go in and buy my ticket." Sam insisted, making all the motions to get out.

"Can I come in with you?" Dean asked, pulling off his seatbelt. He received a nod in response, so he opened his door and walked up to the building with his brother. He left a good bit of space between them, falling behind to just look at Sam. He felt the sudden urge to burn the image into his memory, to memorize the exact shape of his frame, the way his muscles tightened and released to move him, the curve of his waist, his beautiful hair…yes, Dean needed to remember.

As his brother pushed through the front door of the office, he caught up in two long strides, making sure to reach the counter at the same time. The attendant, an older woman with a mole the size of Texas on her face, stared at them plainly before greeting them.

"What can I get you, boys?"

"I need a ticket to Palo Alto." Sam supplied, trying to sound polite, though she didn't.

"One way or round trip?"

"One way, please." The words stung as they permeated the air, and Dean felt the twisting sensation in his gut return. The woman pulled a ticket out from the machine on the counter.

"It's gonna be $49.99, hun." She placed the ticket on the counter, and before Sam could pull out his money, Dean slid a credit card across the counter. She slid the card, and handed it back with a receipt.

"Have a nice ride." She gave a fake smile, and then returned to ignoring them. Sam trudged out and back to the car, trying not to look surprised that Dean dished out for his ticket, while said brother lingered behind, again.

"Hey, when does your bus leave?"

"I've got a half hour before boarding starts, and it's supposed to leave at eight." He looked at his ticket, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Well, I guess we've got some time to burn." Sam turned around, leaning against the car, and smiled.

"What did you have in mind?" Dean stepped up to him, standing directly between his parted legs, and nipped at his waiting lips.

"I could always give you something to remember me by."

"Dean…" he sounded saddened, but his brother would have none of it.

"No, Sam. I won't do this. I'm not going to pretend that you're not getting on that bus tonight. I love you, and I…I guess I just need you." They looked into each others eyes, consumed by sorrow and passion, and Sam saw his entire world. Dean was everything, and he knew that they were both about to have to let go. So, he trailed his hands up his brothers sides, beneath the warn leather jacket that was two sizes too big, and then wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss. This time, it held more. Dean leaned into him, working his lips like he never had before. His hands settled on Sam's waist, pulling them as close together as he could. A swift dart of his tongue had Sam parting his lips, and they moved together effortlessly to open the back door.

Sam fell backwards onto the seat, sliding up and bending so that Dean could shut the door. He managed to remain perfectly between Sam's legs (one of which was resting in the foot well; the other was bent up, resting on the seat) as the door fell closed behind him. Sam pulled him down by his waist, reconnecting their lips as soon as he was close enough to lean up to him. Their clothed erections pressed together, sending moans and shudders through both of their body's.

Dean wretched his clothing off of his body, only parting the desperate kiss to remove his shirt. Sam followed suit, throwing his clothes on the floorboards with his brother's. Hands roamed freely over taut muscles, and hips ground firmly together.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, breaking the kiss in favor of speech, "I want you. Please?" Dean trailed his hand up to rest on his brother's cheek, and he fought back the tears. He knew it was their first time together, and likely their last, and he wanted to take his time.

"Okay." He groped at the floor for his pants, and upon finding them, pulled a bottle of lube from the pocket. The cap fell to the floor, which he would usually pick up, but it seemed inconsequential now if it got lost. It wasn't like he needed it for anyone else. He squirt a large amount onto his fingers, and began to stroke the outside of Sam's waiting hole. He found that the younger man was rather responsive, gasping for breath at the slightest touch.

"Dean," it was as much a plea as anything, as he nudged downward, trying to increase the contact.

"Don't worry, Sammy." He slid one finger in, watching in awe as his brother arched upward. "I'm gonna do it."

Sam felt the burn like he hadn't felt anything before, but he tried to relax his muscles all the same, because he knew it would go away soon. And he was right. As soon as Dean began to slide his finger in and out, it felt awkward, but pleasant. Then, he felt another finger slip inside, and the sensation momentarily returned. As if the pleasure and pain weren't enough to drive him insane, Dean began to crook and twist within him, stretching him impossibly wider. And then it happened. White hot sensation of electric pleasure ran through his body. He couldn't hold back the sounds any longer (the ones he was unaware of holding in), and he moaned like his life depended on it.

"You sound so good, Sammy." Dean crooned, crawling upwards to kiss his brother's lips.

"God…Dean, come on!" He pressed himself further down on his brother's fingers to demonstrate how much he wanted it. Dean saw lust glaze over Sam's eyes as he pulled his hand away.

Sam struggled not to be so tense as he felt the tip of his brother's length brush against him. He breathed, or at least, tried to breathe, as waited for it. He felt Dean's hand's return to his waist as he rocked forward, pressing in hilt deep on the first stroke. It felt strange and wonderful, painful and right, all at once. It was like filling a void he never knew he had. He relaxed the muscles in his lower body, trying to make things easier for Dean, who was now shouting something sounding like "Ohgodsammyfucksogood."

The heat and tight squeeze was almost enough to cause Dean to loose it embarrassingly soon. It was better and more intense than he had ever imagined it would be, and yes, he imagined it more than he cared to admit. But, he managed to keep himself steady, holding firm to Sam's hips as if the entire world were spinning around him, and they were all that were solid. They might as well have been for how he felt.

Sam placed his hands over Dean's on his waist, and rubbed circles with his thumbs. He could almost feel the tension slipping out of the older man's body, as if it were a tangible thing leaking into the air, and out the partially open front window. Dean loosened his grip slightly, and began to stroke.

He almost pulled out all the way, leaving in only the head of his prick, before gently pushing back in. Sam moaned wantonly, rolling his head from side to side. He continued to moan as Dean repeated the motion, picking up the pace as he went. He eventually figured to angle his hips differently, which caused Sam to shoot upwards.

"Fuck! Do that again, De!" he shouted, which Dan couldn't help but smile at. It was the second time tonight that he had hit the right spot, and now he knew where to aim for. He plowed right into his brother's prostrate, hitting it every time. Sam started to sound like a bad porno, shouting a litany of "yes", and breathing heavily. He wrapped his legs around Dean's back, allowing for deeper thrusts, which caused Dean to hit his sweet spot even more roughly than before. It was sheer ecstasy, and a miracle that his building orgasm hadn't ripped through him yet. But it was getting there.

Dean was far closer to the edge of oblivion. The friction was near unbearable, but it was too damn good to stop. Besides, he needed it. They both did. Sam moaning and quivering beneath him, wrapped around him, was intoxicating, to say the least. The heat building in his groin was maddening, as he thrust himself closer to his release. Sam felt it, too. He was dripping precome onto his stomach, without any friction on his dick. Suddenly, his vision went white, and he was screaming Dean's name. Dean let go almost at the same time, arching forward, body relentlessly shooting his spunk deep within Sam.

He collapsed atop his brother, struggling to catch his breath. His hands came to wrap around Sam, who was similarly breathless. They clung to each other, pulling closer despite their superheated states. When they finally leveled their breathing, they sat up, and dressed in silence. The bus was already loading, and Sam would be leaving soon. It was a hard fact for Dean to swallow. Sam felt the same anxiety, but was better at hiding it. After all, he had the consolation of knowing that his suffering would help Dean. He and Dad could go on without him, and it would be less bothersome.

They slipped out into the darkness of the lot, and Sam grabbed his bag from the trunk.

"Can I walk with you to your bus?" Dean asked hopefully, trying to prolong their time together.

"It's probably better if you don't. That way, I can actually kiss you goodbye without people staring at us." He placed his bag on the cold cement, and took Dean's hands in his.

"True." With that, Sam pressed his lips unsteadily against Dean's, unable to control his shaking body. Dean squeezed his eyes tightly, attempting not to get too emotional, as he used his lips to convey his parting wishes. Sam stepped backwards, breaking their contact, and swooping down to pick up his bag. Dean opened his eyes to see Sam back away further.

"You better call me when you get there, Sam." He spoke gruffly, attempting to cover the sorrow in his voice.

"You know I will." And with that, he turned around, and walked away. Dean watched him diligently as he boarded the bus, and took his seat by the window, where he could still be seen. Moments later, the bus started to pull out, and Sam waved at him, face composed, but indicative of his sorrow. Dean choked out a sob as the bus moved out of the lot. A single tear rolled sown his cheek, as he got back into the front of the impala, feeling like a much different man than the last time he was at that very wheel. Before, he was anxious about saying goodbye, but now, he was forever marred by the memory of losing the man he loved.

The End

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all of you who read and review, and to Little Mrs Rosie, my wonderful beta!


End file.
